


Mindfuck

by elzed



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-02-22
Updated: 2005-02-22
Packaged: 2017-11-04 12:07:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/393672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elzed/pseuds/elzed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the lovely tarteaucitron a long long time ago, for her birthday (a first foray into slash...)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mindfuck

Dear tarte,

Dom is lying prone on the bed, hands bound behind him, feet strapped together, and he’s cursing himself for the umpteenth time. Never fucking trust Viggo, _never_ trust him, never give him a chance to turn weird on you. One minute he’s talking about photography with the fucker – about Doisneau and Cartier-Bresson, of all people – and next minute he’s face down on the bed, Viggo on his back pulling at the belt he’s tied round his wrists, and now he’s at the mercy of a crazy Dane with wacky ideas about self-expression and experimentation. Wacky, and quite possibly dangerous.

Viggo has no sense of boundaries, Dom knows that already.

Why did he ever think it was a good idea to hang out with this self-confessed weirdo? Of course it all started so innocently, with a couple of card games and a few drinks, and then Viggo pulled this crazy ninja routine at him and, fuck, here he is, face down, trussed up like a bloody chicken.

And he has no idea what Viggo has in mind, either.

“The problem with you, Dom,” Viggo drawls and his voice is sending shivers down Dom’s spine, although he’s trying to fight them off, “is that you know fuck all about trusting people. You need a little lesson in the art of trust, I think.”

He pauses, and Dom hears the crack of a match, and Viggo inhaling, a long deep breath in, a slow breath out. For a second Dom thinks Viggo’s going to burn him, crush his cigarette onto his back or his arm, _brand_ him and his heart goes into panic mode and then he smells the familiar pungent scent of weed and he relaxes. Well, comparatively.

Because what the fuck happens next?

And then he gasps because suddenly Viggo is straddling his back, leaning over him, one hand tangled in his hair, pulling his head back – and Dom sees his face in total close-up, eyes goggling at him with a mad glint, and smoke everywhere. Viggo’s face gets even closer, and Dom realises he has the spliff inside his mouth and he’s blowing smoke at him and Dom clicks, and opens up, and sucks it all in.

Fuck, he hasn’t had a blowback since college and his head reels with the rush – powerful stuff, he thinks – like it surprises him that Viggo smokes good shit, _right_. Viggo turns the joint back the right way round, takes another drag, and then places it slowly and deliberately in the ashtray next to the bed and moves in close, again, and this time he just bites Dom’s lower lip and sucks it in his mouth while Dom just lies there shell-shocked.

Although if he is honest with himself, it’s not like he hasn’t seen it coming.

Viggo’s tongue pushes past his lips and teeth and into his mouth and it feels like an invasion, although not a completely unwelcome one. Viggo’s a good kisser, but it’s nothing like kissing a girl – more demanding, more teeth, and the fucking stubble rubbing against Dom’s own unshaven cheek, which is kind of wrong and hot at the same time.

Dom’s mind is whirling with all sorts of thoughts, and queries, and images; and as Viggo continues to kiss him he kisses back, because it does, after all, feel quite nice.

And he doesn’t know whether it’s the booze, or that hit of spliff, or maybe the fact that he’s tied up, but Dom’s beginning to feel himself go hard, the rush of blood to his groin spurred on by Viggo’s hot tongue in his mouth, invading him, breaking through his barriers.

He doesn’t really know what’s what anymore, except that this feels good, even if it is completely wrong.

Who knew?

Viggo, apparently, because without a break in the kissing, he flips Dom onto his back – which is quite uncomfortable, what with the hands behind the back and all, but Dom doesn’t really care, in fact a little pain and discomfort is okay, stops him from maybe getting too involved in the proceedings.

Or not, because once he’s on his back Viggo’s hand cups his crotch, roughly, and Dom can feel him smiling against his mouth as his erection betrays him. Viggo lets go of his lips, leans across his body and reaches for the ashtray, where the joint is still smouldering. This time he puts it to Dom’s lips and Dom inhales deeply, once, twice, three times – and between each drag Viggo waits for him to exhale, eyes locked onto his.

Dom feels like a small rodent in the grip of a snake, say, or perhaps a cat – mesmerised, unable to move, entirely subjugated to the other’s will. A feeling that grows as the dope makes its way through his system and he find himself further removed from the action, in a cloud of pleasing horny drowsiness.

It’s not even a surprise when Viggo’s hand traces the outline of his cock through his trousers, his fingers dragging along the seam, then popping the button, pulling the zipper, slipping into his pants, until all Dom can feel is Viggo’s rough fingers against the smooth skin of his dick, immobile, just touching him, making him even harder without even _trying_.

Maybe he’s not as heterosexual as he thought he was.

Viggo’s still staring at him and much to Dom’s surprise it looks like there’s a little uncertainty there, maybe a question in his eyes. Dom can’t quite tell but he really doesn’t want to have to answer that, to say anything, even to signal. He’s had pretty little control over what’s been happening so far, and he likes it like that. He doesn’t want to be consulted – if Viggo really wants an answer, he’s already got it. It’s all in the body language, Vig, give me a break and fucking get on with it, he thinks.

So he closes his eyes.

Viggo gets the message all right because he wraps his hand around him now, and starts sliding it up and down, teasing Dom’s cock out of his pants and trousers, and then gripping tighter, pumping him roughly like he knows exactly what Dom wants. Which, on reflection, isn’t that much of a surprise, because he’s got a cock, too, and obviously a guy would know better, wouldn’t he? The thought flashes through Dom’s brain at lightning speed before the pleasure takes over, and now Dom really doesn’t give a fuck who’s involved here, as long as the rhythm holds long enough for him to come. And because it’s Viggo, and Viggo _knows_ , and twists his hand just so, and presses a little harder, suddenly Dom feels his balls tighten and he’s coming in thick spurts all over his shirt, and Viggo’s hand, with an almighty groan.

Holy shit. He’s just come on Viggo’s fucking hand. What the fuck?

“See? I told you you could trust me,” whispers Viggo, smiling, and Dom thinks he looks like a wolf with his teeth shining in a faceful of dark stubble. Honestly? He has no idea what’s going on. Except perhaps he’s going to have to re-evaluate some of the basic givens of his life. Like his sexual orientation, and his wanking technique, and his tendency to trust his friends and co-workers – because clearly he’s misinterpreted the meaning of the word trust until now.

That’s Viggo for you. King of the mindfuck.  



End file.
